


Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)

by SparkeyScene (orphan_account)



Category: Grimm (TV), Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Caslock, Character merges, Crowstrade, Jimifer, M/M, Mychael, Sebistair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SparkeyScene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>REALLY LONG TEMPORARY HIATUS</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John Watson is a Hunter slated to change the world, Jim Moriarty is a cardigan wearing consulting criminal who took a trip to Hell and came back different, Sebastian Moran is both Duke and Head Torturer of Hell as well as general Jim botherer, Anderson is a bent Angel seeking the Apocalypse, Lestrade is a cantankerous demon preoccupied with ruling over his Kingdom below, Mycroft is still the British Government and Sherlock... Well, Sherlock is just the same as always but with wings.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/><i>A Supernatural fiction set in the Sherlock Universe with merged characters and a different viewpoint on the whole messed up situation.</i>
    <br/></p>
</div><div class="center"></div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bearded Pathologist.

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me while I was watching Series 5 of Supernatural so some of the information might not be quite correct to anyone who's actually seen through to Series 7 but bear with me :).
> 
> Best viewed as an entire work as the initial chapters are really quite short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any mistakes throughout the whole thing, I tend to type as fast as I think and my fingers can't keep up sometimes :).

It started with a Crossroads deal; an unassuming woman placing a box in the ground without fully realising the implications of what she was about to do. Obviously, that happens when you have a demon riding around in your body and placing niggling doubts in your mind but that’s besides the point. This Crossroads deal changed the future irreparably, mainly due to the sadistic predilections of those downstairs but also, in part, it was something to do with the person someone was so eager to bring back. 

It was easy to tip her in the right direction, his sister, a little nudge here, a hormone imbalance there - set her nerves wobbling and then hand her the knowledge that people can be brought back from the dead and she does all of the work for you. Leave a book on the kitchen table open at a certain page, let her read _all_ about the interesting things that have happened as a result of a small box buried in the ground and just _wait_.

\---

Spitting out soil wasn’t his favourite thing to be doing on a Saturday morning, then again neither was coming back from the dead to discover that he’d been buried before somebody grew a speck of intelligence. At least he hadn’t been cremated, that would have been the last straw.

He had no idea how it had happened but one second he was sat comfortably in Hell with a black monstrosity named Sebastian discussing torture strategies and wondering exactly which dark corner of his soul this had all come from, the next he was staring at the pale padded lid of his coffin wondering why it felt like there was a hole in his chest and why he knew the square root of Pi.

A hand gripped his as he pulled himself into the sunlight and he paused to wonder who would actually help what they probably thought of as a zombie climb out of their grave before rolling out of the soil onto warm grass. His voice was all but gone and his head was killing but somehow... Somehow he had taken a leisurely stroll to Hell and been yanked back by... _Something_.

“That would be me, Mr Moriarty.”

Cracking an eye open and peering up he saw a ginger bearded man wearing... A paper forensics bodysuit? _Well, that was strange and rather anticlimactic_. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not a squealing insignificant human, your sense of dissatisfaction is in actual fact completely unfounded.”

Simply waiting, not trusting his voice, Jim becomes impatient. Pulling himself to his feet and dusting off his burial suit he turned to the man, fixing a dark gaze on his boring face. 

“Boring? I’m offended, I thought this Pathologist had a rather interesting beard. Very well. I am Anderson, an Angel of the Lord, a rather bent one if we’re being honest but that’s not the point. You are important and there’s no telling what you’d get up to if I left you down there for too long so... Just go about your daily life until I decided what I want to do with you, okay? Good. Now, I have a crime scene to investigate, if you’ll excuse me.”

Not questioning how this man managed to disappear before his eyes or how he seemed to know every thought passing through his mind Jim’s eyes wandered, wondering where he was. His local cemetery, it seemed. Well he couldn’t go home, that much was certain, he didn’t need his newly acquired knowledge of the square root of Pi to tell him that. 

London. He would go to London. Possibly even put this newly discovered intelligence to use. _Maybe_ even indulge the darker side he discovered during those twenty years in Hell. 

“Oh, Jimmy, you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Whipping around, aiming to bring the back of his fist across the cheek of the person stood behind him, Jim was stalled by a hand on his arm. It seemed that Sebastian was just as strong up here as he was in the pit... Which was disturbing.

“Hmmm, you can’t fool me, you can’t hurt me and you can’t get rid of me. Looks like you’re stuck with little old me until I get bored of you.” the smirk that crossed those unnaturally pale lips sent a shiver down Jim’s spine. This thing, this _Demon_ was following him around like some demented puppy.

“W-” Pausing to clear his throat, Jim attempted speech again, wincing at the rasping pain, “What, exactly, do you want with me, Sebastian?”

The Demon laughed, running a hand through his messy blonde hair, “Well, _you_ , possibly. But mainly I just want to see how you’ll turn out now you’ve had a taste of downstairs.”

Clicking his fingers, Sebastian let out a chuckle, dragging his eyes over Jim with a disapproving look on his face. 

“You can’t go back to your pink cardigan china teapot life, Jimmy.”

Jim glanced down, a grimace forming on his lips as he saw that his prim - if a little soil-y - black suit had been replaced with bleached jeans and a pale pink cardigan. His disgust was clearly evident as, at the click of a finger, his suit was back and clean. He sighed by way of thanks before straightening out his jacket and returning his eyes to the Demon... Who had gone.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m just starting the walk to the airport. You coming, Jimmy?”

Jim raised his eyebrow, “Airport? You’re a Demon, _Sebby_ , I’m sure you can figure something out.” he smirked, examining his nails and pulling off a small piece of skin while Sebastian simply stood there, staring.

“My, my... Hell did a number on you, didn’t it. I like it. Okay, how about this?”

Jim glanced up in time to see a hand being placed on his shoulder and then... Well, black would be an understatement.


	2. Deleted It

The look on Sherlock’s face as John questioned him about more pop culture was a mixture of exasperation, annoyance and strange curiosity; what on earth was he talking about with Doctor Who and ‘Simon and Garf-uncle’? It sounded like some ghastly disease that he hadn’t been privy to the creation of. 

“John, if I ever understood what you were talking about - which I highly doubt - then I’ve more than likely deleted it.” his matter-of-fact tone stopped John in his tracks.

“What? Deleted it? How can you have deleted your knowledge of most of the 20th century, Sherlock!”

Sherlock sighed, he’d lost count of how many times he’d had this conversation over the years. “John, deleting information is a normal process for someone of my intelligence.”

“Your- Oh, _your intelligence? **Your** intelligence!_ ” John slumped into his chair with a dejected sigh, he would never win with this man. There was something strange about him that made it hard to argue but John still put up a valiant effort.

He had been living with Sherlock for around six months and things had gone from strange to down right unbearable recently. For a start there was his unawareness of basic survival instinct, then his uncanny ability to seemingly appear out of thin air in a room, his blatant disregard of personal space or ownership of property and his frankly quite revolting experiments in their soup bowls. To be quite honest it was driving John insane but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t get Sherlock to understand that he just didn’t act like a human!

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sherlock was about to brooch the subject of his seemingly alien behaviour when he felt a tugging at his consciousness. _And it was all going so well_ , he mused as he felt his lungs being pulled through the back of his eyes.

Back in Baker Street John looked up to see that Sherlock had vanished again. Thinking nothing of it he wandered into the kitchen to make tea and got to the stage where he was plucking eyeballs out of the kettle before he decided to just go for a walk and pray that something would start to make sense.


	3. Cordial Relations

“Sherlock.”

“Mycroft.”

Relations between the brothers had always been cordial but this was getting ridiculous.

“Do you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to pull me here when I was just about to have a ‘heart to heart’ with John?” Sherlock’s gaze was withering but his brother didn’t seem to notice, in fact, if Sherlock didn’t know better he would have said that the Archangel was distracted by something.

Mycroft sighed, turning to face his brother and swinging his umbrella absentmindedly as he thought of how to phrase his next statement. Deciding to keep it simple the only words to pass his lips were, “He’s back.”

The witty retort that Sherlock had prepared regarding his brother’s vessel going on a diet was cut short as he considered what Mycroft had just said. He was back. 

“Does he have vessel?”

Mycroft raised his eyebrow, wandering around behind his desk and picking up a file, “Not strictly speaking.”

Taking the proffered file Sherlock felt his heart falling through the floor the further he read.

“How is this possible?”

“Advanced magic.” the Archangel stepped over to the drink’s cabinet, poured a glass of Whiskey that would have had an alcoholic wincing and downed it in one go before continuing, “Performed by a human and sealed by a crossroads Demon. Unfortunately this human has no idea what she’s done meaning that she can’t undo it. She has, unwittingly, invited Lucifer to take over her brother’s body and keep it as his own and there’s not a thing we can do about it.”

Watching Mycroft pace around his office Sherlock’s mind kicked into overdrive trying to puzzle a way out of this situation.

“I’m assuming we know who’s body he’s taken.”

“Obviously.”

“Then we find him, find his sister, reverse the spell and send him back to his cage.”

It seemed so simple to Sherlock but mycroft wasn’t so sure. If Lucifer had managed to actually transpose himself into a human and merge their consciousness’ - essentially creating a new breed of human and Demon - then there was no telling what he could do, and no telling how difficult it would be to separate them again.

Sitting behind his desk Mycroft sighed, pulling a hand through his hair in nervous irritation he looked up to see that Sherlock was almost mirroring his pose, his wildly wavy hair a mess as he tugged at it, deep in thought.

“What about John?” Sherlock muttered.

“What **about** John? Sherlock, this is more important than your human pet- Sherlock!”

Disappearing on his brother was usually rather satisfying for Sherlock but now all he felt was fear clawing at his gut. It wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with and he was rather disturbed that he was having to feel it but getting to John was more important than his own discomfort and so, his usually organised thoughts in a mess, he closed his eyes and searched.


	4. Should've Written it in Enochian

It would not have been hard for Sherlock to find John, he was where he usually went when Sherlock annoyed him, his sister’s house. His sister’s basement, to be more precise.

“John, I have no idea what’s going on here but the Omens are getting serious. They’re coming this way, towards London... From Ireland.”

“Why would they be coming from Ireland?” taking a swig of his beer John studies the map, tracking the path with his eyes. They were moving in a straight line, directly towards London, almost as if someone was guiding them in a straight line with _purpose_.

Following the line on the map he tracked it at the same angle, only stopping when he reached France. Along the way the line just so happened to pass straight through 221 Baker Street _and_ Harry’s house. Barring a few anomalies, it seemed that the Demons were going to drop in for tea some point soon...

“Something’s not right here.”

“Very astute observation, John, but what _is_ it that’s not right?”

Whipping around, John pressed a pistol to Sherlock’s temple, eyebrow raised. “How did you get in here?”

“It was quite simple, really. You should put down some Enochian warding if you _really_ don’t want any unwelcome visitors.”

Sherlock strode with purpose to the table carrying the map and studied the line, drawn straight through their home. The Demons were coming for John, there was no other explanation. They clearly, finally, understood how important he was to the grand scheme of things and wanted to get him out of the picture before he could cause any trouble.

“John, there are a few things you need to know-”

“No, Sherlock, there’s _one_ thing I need to know; what are you?”

Raising his eyebrow, Sherlock watched John carefully, “What do you mean?”

“You _know_ what I mean, Sherlock! You don’t trigger EMF, you can cross salt lines, you’re immune to Holy Water, Holly and Wormwood have _absolutely_ no effect on you... Do I need to go on?”

Sherlock’s face remained impassive as John answered his own question.

“You’re not human, that much is obvious, but you’re not any kind of Demon I’ve ever seen. So... _What. Are. You?_ ”

Sherlock smirked, "It took you six months to figure it out, I think you're getting rusty."

"Shut up and answer the question, Sherlock." John snapped, hand steady as he shifted his finger to the trigger.

"Shooting me wont help you, not only will I not die, I'll probably _‘sulk’_ as you say." the tiny quirk to Sherlock's lips told John that he was joking but it didn't put his mind at ease. If anything it made it worse as he began to suspect that Sherlock was something he'd never seen before... Meaning he didn't know how to kill him.

"If you'll humour me, I'll show you what I am." clearing his throat and letting his eyes fall closed he took a deep breath - it was all showmanship, he'd always had a flair for the dramatic - and let shadowy yet strangely corporeal wings unfurl from his back.

"I am Sherlock... An Angel of the Lord." as an afterthought he added, "ish."

"Ish? How can you be an Angel, ish?" taking a second to study Sherlock, John stepped forward, his ingrained mistrust disappearing for a moment, "How can you even be an Angel?"

Carding his fingers through the smokey wings, John waited for Sherlock to speak.

"John..." his voice was constricted as he glanced at the hunter before him, running a hand through his _wings_ , "One; I can't- think- okay stop."

As quickly as the wings were there, they disappeared, leaving John with his hand outstretched, a grin on his face.

"Two; no human should be able to touch them, so what are _you_." there was a slight hostility in Sherlock’s tone, surprise at being correct in his assumptions of John being different.

John shook his head, stepping back. “What do you mean ‘what am I’? _Of course I’m human!_ ”

By now Harry’s gun was pointed at Sherlock too, her eyes dark as she watched him carefully, looking for any sign that he was about to go postal on John. She had never met Sherlock before but she knew from John how strange he could be, it seemed only right that he wasn’t human but an _angel_ seemed a little far fetched.

“You feel Human, yes, but you could easily be something else.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

John shook his head and changed the subject, uncomfortable with discussing his nature as easily as this, “So, say you _are_ and angel, and say that maybe I’m _not_ human... What are you doing _here?_ ”

Sherlock paused as if he couldn’t believe that John was asking the question but then answered, “I’m protecting you.”

Shaking his head in his usual stubborn refusal to accept any facts that could possibly point to his family being more abnormal than hunting monsters, John watched Sherlock for an signs of lies. There were none that he could see but reading Sherlock was always an uphill struggle. 

“So this intelligence of yours, is that because you were upstairs and you could see everything?” Harry questioned, her eyes still full of distrust.

“No, my intelligence is simply due to observation and time, nothing supernatural - I know how much you like to attribute everything to your _monsters_ but I’m afraid that’s not the case here.” Sherlock’s gaze was withering as he turned away from the younger Watson.

“So why are you protecting me? What’s so special about the Watson’s that we _always_ get screwed over by you guys?” the bitterness in John’s tone spoke of distrust and previous bad experiences, a lifetime of them if Sherlock’s research was correct; his mother’s death, his father leaving them to this life of hunting, his sister’s uncontrollable anger. Everything was stacked up against them. 

“I’m not ‘screwing you over’, John. In actual fact I’m trying to save your life so _shut up and listen to me._ ” Sherlock paused, eyebrow raised and waiting for John to interrupt again, when he didn’t Sherlock continued speaking, “I don’t know what you are, I don’t know why you’re important but you are. I’ve disobeyed orders to be here, risked my own life, so John, believe me you-”

Stopping suddenly and looking up the stairs from Harry’s basement, Sherlock waited.

“Sher-” Sherlock held up a hand to stop John from talking, his eyes still fixed at the top of the stairs. Sighing and shaking his head Sherlock looked over to Harry.

“You _really_ should’ve written those wards in Enochian.”


	5. The Great Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're going to hate me for this but don't worry :) you'll thank me for it later.

“And that would have made a difference, why?” John’s tone is exasperated as he grabs the shotgun from the table, checking that he had put his pistol back in his jeans before jogging up the stairs to see that every light in the house was out before running back downstairs into the cellar.

“Sherlock, what exactly are we dealing with here?”

“I thought it would be obvious...” John gave him a withering look and he sighed, “Angels. We’re dealing with Angels.”

“And how do we kill them?” Harry chipped in, loading her gun and watching Sherlock carefully.

“You don’t.”

John waited for Sherlock to tell him that he was joking, waited for Sherlock to smirk at him, his eyes lighting up as he laughed at John... But it didn’t happen, instead he said, “I do.”

“Won’t that get you killed or something?” John asked, concerned for his friend’s life as he pulled a long silvery blade from his coat.

“Possibly.”

John raised his eyebrow as Sherlock grinned in his direction before sprinting off up the stairs, coat swishing dramatically behind him. Following after him, if only to save his ass like always, John cocked the hammer on his pistol and stepped into the front room. Sherlock was stood near the wall, his hand hovering over a sigil as he waited for the Angels to arrive.

“This is going to throw me out of the room, but it’ll take every other Angel too. When I’m gone get out of here, go to Mummy’s in the country and wait until I get back.”

“Is that.. Blood?”

Sherlock nodded, “From my vessel. Don’t worry, he doesn’t mind.”

John was about to say something about Sherlock’s considerable morals as an Angel but was stopped as Sherlock’s ears pricked up, his eyes turning to the front door. The hairs on the back of John’s neck prickled and he knew that the things he was supposed to be fighting, the Angels, were here. Wondering what he would find, John crept over to the front door, fingers resting on the handle.

“John, what are you doing?”

Looking back at his friend with a hint of a smirk John shrugged, “You know me, curiosity killed the cat and all that.”

Opening the door and peering around the frame he was confronted by only two men, staring in his direction. The smaller of the two dressed in a sharp blue-black suit and tie, dark hair and black eyes grinning up at him and reminding him of a wolf taunting prey. The man beside him was of considerably more brawn, a strong jaw, leather jacket, plain dark jeans and yet his sandy blonde hair and casual dress were belied by his black eyes.

Shutting the door John sprinted to the kitchen, shouting behind him, “Salt the doors, he’s got a demon following him around like a little puppy.”

Harry raised her eyebrow, “What on _earth_ are you on about. If this guy really is an Angel do you really think he’s going to be making best buddies with a Demon?”

“He isn’t an ordinary Angel.”

Both turned to look at Sherlock, eyes wide. John shook himself out of his surprise and, as quickly as he could, covered every entrance with salt - including the basement stairs and the bottom of the main staircase to save him having to run off upstairs - before turning back to Sherlock.

“What do you mean?”

“This Angel, he’s not a typical ‘Warrior of God’, John.” Sherlock’s tone was tired, almost as if he just wanted all of this to be over so he could go home and check on his boiling eyeballs, “This is the Morning Star.”

“Lucifer?” Harry laughed as Sherlock’s face remained deadly serious, the entire family knew all of the old legends - even the ones that couldn’t possibly be real but this... It was too much, “You can’t actually expect us to believe that Lucifer is stood on our porch patiently waiting with his pet! It’s ludicrous.”

“The Morning Star? Sherlock, why do you look... Impressed, _reverent_ , I don’t know what the word is.” 

Sherlock’s stare turned icy as John watched him, waiting, “John, this isn’t the time.”

“No, Sherlock, now is the only time we might get. Now tell me, why do you call him that? What is he to you?” Stepping closer to his friend, John gestured with his gun as he glared.

Sherlock sighed, glancing around the house before finally deciding that they were relatively safe for now and relenting, let it be noted unhappily, to John’s demands.

“It seems that very few still remember the Morning Star as I do. He was the only one who stood up to him, who decided that he wouldn’t serve the humans as our father expected us to. At the time, had I felt I was able and willing enough to follow Lucifer, I would have made the same choice. As it was, Lucifer was cast down into his cage by his own brother and I didn’t have the guts to stand up to him, if only because I didn’t want to put _my_ brother through the same. I’ve come to see that, had I made that decision I would have regretted it, humans aren’t that bad once you get used to them.” The flicker of a smirk on Sherlock’s lips told John that his last statement was intended to be a Joke but John was far too wrapped up in absorbing this new information that he couldn’t fully appreciate it.

“So... You _knew_ Lucifer?”

Sherlock nodded, “Very well indeed.”

“Then why aren’t you out there talking him out of... _Whatever the hell it is he’s planning to do?_ ” 

Shaking his head Sherlock’s expression turned mournful, “If I could then believe me, John, nothing would give me greater pleasure but... What you have to understand is that being locked in a cage in Hell for millennia changes an Angel into something _more_. He’s not the Lucifer I knew and, were I to go out there, he would probably see me as a traitor regardless of what I attempted to say, which would no doubt end in my death and I am in no rush to meet our great Lord.”

John nodded, watching Sherlock carefully before moving over to peer out of the window. The suited man was gone. _Lucifer_ was gone.

“Sher-”

“ **JOHN!** ”


	6. Weekend at Jimmy's

Traveling had once been the young Moriarty's greatest pleasure but ever since Jim took up residence in his mind he'd been doing nothing but traveling and quite frankly it was getting infuriating. Sitting down on a bench in the park they were currently passing through Moriarty realised that he could feel his own mind melding with the thing that had decided to ride around in his skin, the desires that he uncovered in Sebastian's company were simply getting more pronounced as time went on and he found that despite the entire process being one of the strangest things he’d ever encountered he didn’t really mind. 

The knowledge imparted by having the Morning Star in your mind was... Extensive and spectacular, to say the least. Perhaps the most important knowledge imparted was that of what he was becoming by accepting the so called ‘Devil’ into himself, quite frankly the idea was nothing if not appealing and, considering his being dead and the fact that he could hardly simply wander home with what he’d learned Moriarty found himself welcoming the change. 

“So, Jimmy, where exactly are we going?”

Jim looked up at Sebastian who stood over him holding out a coffee with a smirk on his face. Accepting the coffee with a nod Jim paused before giving his answer, “London.”

“London? So why the hell are we hanging around here?” the blonde scowled, sipping at his coffee.

“I’ve been in the box for a long time, Seb. There are certain things that you take for granted when there’s nothing but fire.” looking to the man sitting next to him Jim smiled almost wistfully, “I miss Heaven but this is as close as I’m going to get, I’d like some time to enjoy it before we destroy it all, dear.”

Jim hissed and his eyes snapped closed as images of the Pit flashed in front of his eyes giving him a splitting headache but otherwise not phasing him. Somewhere in his head Moriarty was smirking at him, _you forget Jim, I’ve already been to Hell, that’s the only reason that you’re here._

Letting out a small chuckle Jim stood, draining his coffee before turning to Sebastian.

“Come, we’ve got work to do.”

It was time to pay Sherlock a visit, to tell the truth he was looking forward to seeing the petulant Angel again, he always was fairly interesting if a little too hung up on ‘our Father who art in Heaven’ etcetera etcetera.

It took them barely any time to arrive at Sherlock’s house what with his wings and Sebastian’s rather long winded attempt at flight - to Humans it would probably seem fast but to Jim Sebastian may as well have been moving at snail’s pace. When Sebastian finally materialised beside him he had been waiting for two minutes and thirty six seconds, needless to say he was irritated. 

The house was much the same as the houses around it, semi-detached, boring but Jim could smell something different in the air. There were wards and protections inside intended to fend off Demons but they were nothing to him, what really intrigued him was the smell of Demon within the house. It was faint, almost imperceptible, masked by the stink of Angel and Human. He made a note to investigate it when he was finished before sweeping the door open and stepping inside.


	7. Unstoppable Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling generous because it's been so long and I left you on that cliffhanger last time so two chapters today :)

Wandering in through the front door at what seemed to be a leisurely speed and seemingly oblivious to Sherlock’s cry of warning, Jim threw his left hand out, tossing John to the floor and rendering him immobile for a second. Glaring at Sherlock, Jim kicked the salt line and Sebastian was instantly in the house, stood before Sherlock and grinning in a way that made the Angel’s blood boil. 

“Deal with him, dear, I have business to attend to with our little friend.” Jim stood over John, keeping the other Angel in his periphery just in case he decided to attempt a fight with Sebastian but otherwise focusing all of his attentions on the man before him.

"So this is the famous _John Watson_..." hitching his suit trousers up slightly, the Morning Star crouched beside John who was attempting to recover his faculties. "Nice to finally meet you, Johnny-boy.” Lucifer smirks down, his voice musical and deceptive with a soft Irish lilt masking the menace in his words.

"It was _far_ too easy to find you, I mean given your importance I'd have thought good old Sherlock would be keeping a better eye on you but..." sucking air through his teeth and tutting in Sherlock's direction, "It seems that he underestimated me. In my opinion he's been with the humans too long."

Jim's voice drops to a whisper and he leans forward, bring his lips to John's ear, "I think it's time we teach dear old brother a lesson, what do you say? We'll start with the emotional rubbish you people invest in so readily and see where we go from there."

Snapping into action at Lucifer's words John jumped to his feet, bringing his closed fist across the other man's cheek and stunning him enough that he had time to grab his gun and clamber over to Harry who was out cold on the other side of the room. Keeping a close eye on the devil while he tried to rouse his sister, John found that the blow he expected when his adversary straightened up again didn't come.

"What do you want, Lucifer." he hissed.

"Lucifer?" the withering gaze that settled on Sherlock would have melted a human's mind but Sherlock simply shrugged.

“What was I supposed to call you, they’d hardly know who you were if I said it in Enochian.”

Jim sighed, "Dear brother, always so _awkward_." looking back over to John, Jim smirked.

"Well we've got time for story time, Johnny-boy. Lucifer is the name that-" Jim paused, considering his words as if they were a bad taste in his mouth, "Our gracious and plentiful father bestowed upon me. I discarded it as I did his views on you whelps. No, I’ve taken many other names in the past - The Fallen, King of Hell, Betrayer of the Divine, they’re all a bit dramatic for my tastes - now that I'm in this vessel and a part of it’s mind I figured that it would be better to keep with the times, so Jim it is!"

"How very _progressive_ of you-" Sherlock's scathing words were halted as Jim appeared directly before him, the back of his hand crossing the taller man's cheek.

" _Still your tongue_ , or I'll have to do it for you. Perhaps I should tell your dearest John the other half of my enthralling story, after all I was quite the storyteller and I haven't had the chance to 'flex my wings', so to speak, in quite some time." Jim's facial expression shifted like fluid, one second enraged the next delighted, it was almost too much for John to comprehend - though that might have had more to do with the Morning Star standing in his sister's sitting room.

Sherlock said nothing to Jim, simply watched and awaited his decision, nothing could influence Lucifer's choices - at least it never had and likely wouldn't any time in the near future. Finally Jim's expression shifted again, a mischievous smirk crossing his pale lips. Sherlock braced, awaiting the inevitable as Jim opened his mouth to speak.

"First I believe introductions are in order; Sherlock, John and comatose Harriet, meet my friend and associate Sebastian Moran... Duke of Hell. My vessel - of sorts - took a rather nice trip down and kindly Sebastian intercepted him for me, he has great potential, I find his consciousness quite delectable."

Jim grimaced slightly but then grinned, "As it is I'm not quite sure how much of this is him and how much is me, that's the trouble with merging minds with another, but I have no doubt that plenty of it is him, I'm almost a back seat driver just _influencing_ \- a word here or an impulse change there. I have to say," he gave a small chuckle, "it's rather relaxing."

"Get to the point, would you." Jim's eyes locked onto John and his gaze instantly turned icy.

"What you fail to understand about Sherlock is that he is a compulsive _liar_. For example, I doubt he's told you that he's actually the littlest brother... Of three. Of course Mycroft is the authority but I, well _I_ am Sherlock's authority..." the smirk that Jim gave made John's stomach turn as he tried to take in the information that was being thrust at him, " _I'm the middle brother._ "

Sherlock watched as John's face fell, he could almost _feel_ the trust they shared disappearing as Jim spoke. Hanging his head, Sherlock carefully eased his blade from his sleeve and waited as his brother continued to spout.

"And dear little Sherlock here... Well I think it's high time he learned some _respect_."


	8. Immovable Object

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while, there might be a few typos and editing issues too, been dealing with Uni work and annoying lecturers but on the right track again now hopefully.

The force of John hitting the ground _again_ was enough to make stars flash before his eyes as he blinked up at Sebastian who was now standing over him as Jim advanced on Sherlock.

"Brother _dearest_." Sherlock's address was scathing, his tone much the same as if he had been talking to Mycroft, John noted.

"What's that charming phrase?" pausing for thought, Jim grins, "This is rather akin to what happens when an _unstoppable force_ , meaning me, meets an _immovable object_ , being you. Seems fitting, you always were a pest, Sherlock."

Sherlock’s attempt at a withering retort was cut short by Jim’s fist connecting with his stomach, his Angel strength causing Sherlock to double over and let out a gasp of pain. He had almost forgot what it felt like until that blow landed.

“Don’t talk, dear, you’re much prettier when we don’t have to hear your condescension.” Jim breathed, his fist crossing Sherlock’s cheek causing the taller Angel to fall against the wall behind him, face pressed to the cold white paint.

Glancing around the room, Jim’s eyes landed on John and a grin crossed his pale lips - it was time to get inventive.

“ _Sebastian_... Why don’t you show our Johnny boy what it’s like to have a Duke of Hell riding around in his skin.”

Sherlock’s slice across his chest took Jim by surprise as the younger Angel responded to the threat to John - Jim’s attempt to duck out of the way resulting in a torn lapel and half a tie but no serious injury. Letting out a disgruntled noise, Jim turned to his brother and sighed.

“You never learn, do you?” the older Angel muttered, “I wonder what effect you’d have on Drywall...”

His slim fingers wrapped around Sherlock’s neck and sent him flying across the room, the drywall collapsing beneath him. Letting out a groan he pulled himself to his feet only to see John standing over him, his eyes black as pitch, an Angel’s blade - no doubt his own from the floor where he dropped it - clutched in his hand which was uncomfortably close to the Angel’s throat.

“John...” Sherlock’s breathing was laboured as he watched his friend closely, “You can fight him...”

“Shut up.”

***

  
“ _Wake up you useless meat sack!_ ” Sherlock gasped as a sharp pain crossed his cheek yet again, somehow causing pain pretty much everywhere else. Letting out a low groan he cracked his eyes open to see John stood before him, eyes still as black as they had been before Sherlock was knocked out. The sinister glare from his best friend made his heart sink.

“He’s awake, how helpful... Sebastian, show Sherlock what Johnny boy can do when _pushed_.”

Sherlock gasped as the blade was drawn down his side, leaving a deep gash following the line of his ribcage. Glancing down at his pale torso Sherlock saw that while he’d been asleep his older brother had been busy; his chest and legs were littered with scars that, when put together, formed the shapes and curves of the armour he wore when in Heaven. It had been many years since that armour had seen any use.

The blade traced down his sternum, crossing the intricate swirls and lines already treating his body as a canvas. _John_ grinned up at him as he carved, causing Sherlock to cry out in anguish and pain, begging the Demon to stop, stop using his friend’s body to cause him pain and face him like a man.

Sebastian paid no heed and simply continued to create his masterpiece; an armour of scars.

As Sherlock followed the familiar patterns down his body he saw that his feet were off the ground, blood dripping into a pool beneath his feet... The pain came rushing to him as he noticed it’s cause; two large hooks threaded through the flesh of his shoulders and attached to the ceiling by thick chains. Letting out a gasp Sherlock attempted to reach up and dislodge one of the chains but his arms would not move, the pain was nigh on disabling him.

His eyes found Jim, the pain coming across as pleading as he spoke, “Why are you doing this, Brother?”

Jim paused, watching Sherlock swing slightly as Joh- _Sebastian_ nudged his arm aside to pull the blade in a sweeping arc down his ribs before smirking.

"I would have thought it was obvious... It's _fun_." Letting out a light chuckle Jim pulled up a chair, watching Sebastian work while occasionally making small comments along the lines of 'oh do stop whining, brother', 'I rather preferred your old meat suit, Seb' or 'I couldn't have done it better myself' in his sickly sweet Irish cadence.

By the time Sebastian was finished Sherlock had no fight left, his head hung and he was silent but for the odd fairly pathetic whimper. Walking over to Sherlock Jim lifted his younger brother's chin and grinned as he saw the glittering blue eyes dull...

" **Sebastian.** "

With a sigh of relief the demon left John's body and returned to his own, standing and cracking each of his joints individually before moving to stand beside Jim.

Running a hand down Sebastian's arm Jim smirked, "It's good to have you back, darling."

Stepping up to Sherlock and digging his finger into one of the carvings in his skin he dragged his finger down in, widening it and causing a river of blood to run to the floor. Sherlock gave a tiny twitch and a gasp but nothing more. Jim frowned before sighing, 'This really doesn't bother you, does it? I should have known..."

Bending down to wrap a slim hand around John's neck Jim smiled - or as close as he could get - as he saw Sherlock tense.

"I knew the way to you was through your pet but I never thought that you'd be so... _simple_." Pinning John to the wall and turning to look at Sherlock Jim slapped John around the face until he woke and groggily began to question why he was pressed against the Drywall as Jim pressed the tip of his Angel blade to John's left shoulder. Jim simply grinned before lifting his hand and bringing it down to plunge the knife through John's flesh and scarred tissue, causing the small man to let out a long cry of pain as blood welled up and tumbled from his wound and down his jacket, pooling on the floor where it mingled with Sherlock's.

"Jim please... Stop. Please, _please_ just- **_STOP!_** "

Jim moved the knife away from John's other shoulder, giving up his attempt to put out every joint in his body ad let him fall to the floor before moving back over to Sherlock and onto far sweeter prospects. Smirking he dug his fingernails into the younger angels shoulders and dragged his fingers down across the almost tiger-like stripes carved into his skin.

Sherlock gasped, the witty retort he'd prepared dying on his tongue, his teeth gritted against the pain as blood pooled in his mouth from his bitten cheek and freshly split lip. His retort, however, wasn't needed as the front door flew open and someone cleared their throat quietly.

"Dear little brother, what _have_ you been doing? Leaning on his eagle headed umbrella and reaching up to smooth his ginger hair before scratching his hooked nose, Mycroft scowled at Jim. Sweeping his hand to the side he pinned the stunned Morning Star to the wall and knocked Sebastian unconscious, glancing over John briefly Mycroft moved on and stepped before Sherlock.

"Look at the mess you've made, you fool..." He hissed, taking in Sherlock's injuries and letting out a tired sigh. Reaching up he removed his own blade from his sleeve and cut the flesh holding Sherlock up, catching him he lowered his younger brother to the floor. Sherlock was beyond words and simply lett out a whimper of thanks and a small croak that Mycroft took to mean, 'is John okay?'

"Your pet is fine, Sherlock, stop fretting and rest."


	9. Change is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you may notice a slight change to the genre and fandoms of this fic, that's because I didn't want to introduce the third part until I'd watched a little more of the show and until I actually decided to write it into the fic, I knew I wanted it to be there somewhere but I just didn't know where. So, I know it's a little different now but I hope you still like it :). I promise it won't be cheesy.
> 
>  **I'm also thinking of a title change to Shake It Out** \- it seems more logical - please let me know what you think because I know there are a few people who read this so I figured it would be better to get your opinion before I changed the title and confused you all. Comment or message or whatever to let me know :)

Letting out a groan and pulling himself upright John cast his gaze around the room. He was in the lounge, laid up on the newly righted sofa. Nothing remained of the previous conflict bar a hole in the drywall and a large red puddle on the carpet. 

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

Springing from the sofa John sprinted into the kitchen, too frantic to notice any pain at the moment.

“Sherlock?”

Nothing.

“ **Sherlock!?** ”

“John do stop shouting, people are sleeping.” The cutting tone of Mycroft Holmes, as much as John hated to say it, put him at ease; at least there was a ‘friendly’ face in the house.

“Is he okay?”

Mycroft’s gaze softened as he saw John’s wide eyes and heard the clear note of panic in his voice.

“He’s fine, a little beaten up but all he needs is some rest. Your sister, however...”

John didn’t even wait for Mycroft to finish before he darted down into the basement, seeing Harriet on one of the cots in the safe room he rushed over and sat beside her.

“Harry?” Turning to Mycroft who had followed him in, John sighed, “What’s wrong with her?”

“Our dear friend Sebastian gave her a present before he left.”

“Will you stop being so mysterious and **tell me what he’s done to her!?** ” John yelled, his anger simply falling from his mouth as Mycroft did nothing but twirl his umbrella and grimace pragmatically. 

“Demon blood.” A croak sounded from across the room, “I smell demon blood and, considering none of us got close enough to our dear Duke to do any damage then it must be your sister.”

“How do you know it’s her, not you or me?” tears blossomed on John’s eyes as he looked back to Harry.

“She’s the only one still comatose.” Sherlock said softly, walking over to John’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder.

“How could you let him do that?” John’s gaze flicked back to Mycroft, “ **How could YOU not stop him!** ” 

“I was busy caring for you and your _keeper_ , I imagine you would have been even more upset were he laying dead on your carpet.”

Before John could reply Sherlock lead Mycroft from the room, taking him to the front door before speaking.

“Thank you, Mycroft... I- I owe you.”

“You’ve always owed me, you never bother to pay.” with a soft smile Mycroft was gone and Sherlock returned to the basement to see John fast asleep with his head resting beside his sister - the rest of him hung from the bed at an odd angle and was well on the way to falling into an unceremonious heap on the floor. Dragging the second bed over Sherlock picked John up as carefully as he could and set him on the bed, shuffling him around a little before deeming him comfortable and leaving to sit by the door. He would be little use were Jim to come back but somehow he wasn’t in the mood to sleep. Shifting himself as his wounds stung Sherlock made himself comfortable and waited.

*******

“Have you found him? ... Good, bring him in ... What do you mean he’s ‘giving you trouble’? ... I employ you to deal with this kind of thing Lestrade ... Just get it done or you may find yourself and your precious hounds back in the pit you dragged yourself from ... Good.”

Gregory Lestrade was a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard. He was also a demon, not that anyone knew; nobody suspected that his three adorable - though admittedly a little vicious - puppies were in fact Hellhounds that he was rearing, nor did anyone suspect that the single malt whiskey he drank had been cured in the fires of Tartar. Greg appreciated that people were simply too blind to see what he truly was.

But now he was hunting someone who knew _exactly_ what he was and exactly how to hurt him - tailing the cast down king of Hell who he himself had replaced could give a man a mean headache. He hated his cover falling away when other supes moved into town, taking over the entire ethos with their foreign Hell stink and polluting the fine but admittedly thick London air.

“Come on Styx, we’ve got work to do.” traveling the old way made Lestrade’s stomach turn but needs must; the Morning Star’s trail was cooling so quickly that even his oldest Hound wound soon have difficulty picking him up.

Following his old friend across the skies of London several different scents caught his nose, each one disturbing him more than the last: the first was his mark somewhere above Brixton; the next... A Reaper heading straight for the centre of London, an old old old creature steeped in mystery and power, not used to everyday life blending into the general populace either by the smell of him; and the third... A passing scent on the wind but by far one of the most frightening things Lestrade had ever witnessed... A Grimm, close to it’s end but strong even in death. Things were changing if the Grimm's were coming back, it was time to be wary.

Falling back onto the Morning Star’s trail Lestrade closed in, staying close to Styx - the puppy’s nose was more attuned to the smaller scents than his own - and slowing his pace, an overshot would make the difference between catching his target and letting him get away and he couldn’t afford to do that, not if he wanted to keep his freedom.

According to his employer, one Mycroft Holmes, his mark was injured in a struggle and on the run with a rogue demon Duke at his side, he would be as dangerous as a caged hound in this situation.

Materialising into a deserted street Lestrade followed Styx until they came to an old house - it may sound like Hansel and Gretel but it was perhaps more akin to a ‘Last House on the Left’, ‘don’t you open that trap door!’ kind of vibe. Pushing open the door and stepping inside Lestrade reached into the pocket inside his suit and pulled out an old Colt revolver.

“Here kitty kitty, come out and play.” he had to admit that hunting on his own terms and being able to use his full abilities was gratifying.

Moving through the house Lestrade called out again, after all there was no point in hiding when the Morning Star probably knew he was there already. Stepping through a door and reaching out to the light switch Lestrade had to snigger despite his situation.

“ _Luci_ , it’s good to see you!” he moved to sit on the flower patterned sofa and took in the lace doilies on the sideboard as a sarcastic smirk crept across his face. He had probably given away his intentions by now so why not have some fun while he was at it, after all he likely wouldn’t get this opportunity again.

Jim was laid up on the sofa, very real and very red blood pouring from his side and dripping into a puddle on the wooden floor - to Lestrade’s unpracticed eye it looked like a compound fracture of around three ribs but he’d been wrong before. Sebastian sat by his side, Jim’s hand carding though his raggedy blonde hair, dragging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"Hmmm, my Liege, what a pleasant surprise."


	10. Dirt and Roses

“Hmmm, my Liege, what a pleasant surprise.”

Sinking back into the sofa and waving his hand to decline Jim’s offer of tea Lestrade’s eyes wandered back to the patch of blood on Jim’s slate grey suit.

“That looks sore, maybe you should get it looked at.”

“I find it hard to believe that you actually care about my wellbeing; realistically you’re nothing more than an usurper to my throne, I _should_ have Sebastian kill you.”

Lestrade let the smirk slip from his face as he felt the tone of the conversation turn, it was less a jovial visit to prey more a business transaction to keep his life. Sebastian Moran was Duke of Hell. Lestrade couldn’t kill his Duke, no matter what people liked to think there was still some chain of command in the pit and killing one of your subordinates - however vile - could still alienate the majority of the many disgusting creatures he ruled over.

“But?”

“But at present you’re the only one who can help me.” Jim’s tone was silky and made Lestrade’s skin crawl, though that might have been the fact that he was suggesting Lestrade _help_ him, that was an equally repulsive thought.

A growl of discontent escaped from Sebastian but he said nothing, simply glared at Lestrade and continued with what could only be described as nuzzling into Jim’s hand.

“So you’re suggesting that, in return for my life, I let you go?”

Jim’s smirk said it all... There was more to it than that. Lestrade mulled it over; what could the ex-King of Hell possibly want with him at this point, Lestrade had already taken his throne, taken over all of his territories and established rather a following above ground-

“Heal me, and you can go back to your precious Holmes.”

Ah... 

Lestrade didn’t want to think about the consequences if he didn’t heal Jim, it would probably include being trapped and tortured in all manner of ways by his new pet Duke and then tossed back to Hell with naught but a near death experience for his trouble.

“So, in return for fixing you up I get to leave with my life. I don’t see how that’s a good deal for me. I mean surely I already have my life.” Lestrade smirked at Jim, languishing in his wordplay.

“ _You took my **kingdom** , had I not been in my brother’s daring attempt at a prison you would **already** be torn to pieces and rotting in the ninth circle!_ ” Jim’s tirade was cut short by a gasp of pain as he jolted upwards, ribs cracking under pale skin.

Before Lestrade knew it Sebastian was on his knees and pushing Jim back, resting a hand near the wound and pressing gently, assessing the damage, “You need to stop fidgeting unless you want to be back in the pit with people trying to ‘help’ using it as an excuse to tear you apart.”

“You really don’t trust our kind, do you?” Lestrade asked, pensive as he stood and moved over to Jim and Sebastian.

“Can you blame me?” Sebastian glanced up to Lestrade, a smirk on his lips but a distinct fear in his eyes, “You just gonna stand there or are you gonna help?”

Making a snap decision as he thought of the elder Holmes, Lestrade nodded, “What do you need me to do?”

“Molly.” Jim gasped out, coughing. Blood blossomed on his lips and Sebastian grew visibly more worried.

“There’s a pathologist of sorts at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, Molly Hooper. Bring her here.” and with that Lestrade was dismissed with a wave of Sebastian’s hand. Realistically he could just run, the unsaid threat to hunt him down didn’t bother him... Abandoning the Morning Star though, something about that felt wrong. Despite the man threatening to kill him he was still the creator of all Demons and Lestrade was old enough to remember the glory days when being a demon was _fun_. Now Jim was just a man, where Lestrade had only grown.

“St Bart’s it is.” he muttered to himself, taking pity on the deposed king.

***

Molly Hooper was bored. Pathology was fun and she enjoyed her job but at that moment in time corpses had no lure for her.

“Sherlock? What are you doing here?”

“I work here. I’m simply wondering what brings you here, don’t you have a case to be working on, something about a suicide?”

Voices in the corridor drew Molly’s attention; standing she walked out into the hall to see Sherlock, a fresh coffee in his hand, glaring at a harassed looking greg Lestrade. 

“Detective, how can I help you?” cutting in before Sherlock could retrieve his riding crop - ‘Molly!’ she mentally scolded herself and shook away her blush, pushing the thought from her head she smiled at the visitor.

“Detective Lestrade,” he turned to Molly, “A word, if you would, Miss Hooper?”

Paying little attention to her nerves Molly nodded, leading the detective into her lab with a small wave and a smile to Sherlock.

“Miss Hooper, I’m working on a case, a fairly gruesome worker and I could do with your help.”

“Y-you want me to consult on a case? Why not just take Sherlock?”

The DI let out a chuckle, “You’re a pathologist, a good one so I’ve heard. We could benefit from a professional opinion and Sherlock has... Upset the majority of the team recently, it wouldn’t be beneficial if he turned up.”

Molly laughed, “Sherlock has that effect. So, where do I start?”

“The crime scene is in Brixton. Are you busy now?”

Molly followed Lestrade past a slightly harassed looking Sherlock and out of the hospital. The fact that she was being consulted by Scotland Yard was a little strange but she decided not to let her mind dwell on it; dwelling on anything in her profession was a bad idea and in any case should anything go wrong she had salt and a gun tucked into the back of her jeans - a girl could never be too careful.

“So what’s so bad about this case that you had to call me in?” Molly asked, climbing into the car after Lestrade.

After a moment or two he turned to her and smiled, “There is no case Miss Hooper, I just used that as an excuse to get you out of the hospital. The truth is I have a... _friend_ in need of a little help. He asked me to fetch you.”

Keeping her cool as her brain spun into overdrive she let out a deep breath and calmed herself down before asking, “Who is this friend of yours?”

After a pause to consider her question Lestrade decided to be honest, it was far simpler, “He calls himself James Moriarty.”

Now as a hunter Molly heard things, things she would rather not be hearing; one of these things was that the Morning Star had returned and was calling himself ‘James’. It was no coincidence that she had been called to treat this ‘Moriarty’ character...

“He’s Satan, isn’t he?”

Lestrade chuckled, “He said you were good. Okay, here’s the deal; he press-ganged me into fetching you, you heal him up good as new and I get to go free... Are we clear?”

Molly paused for a second, thinking over what had just been said. There was a threat in there somewhere but she paid no heed, there was something she enjoyed about antagonising mortals.

“And if I leave him to rot?”

“I’ll find someone who is willing and eager to do unspeakably unpleasant things to you.”

...

That was a new one. She’d had many wanton threats thrown at her before but this one chilled her to the bone; she had no doubt that Lestrade was in a very cushy position and knew some rather unsavory people, being on the receiving end of their ‘unpleasantness’ wasn’t exactly on her ‘To-Do’ list.

“O-okay.”

Lestrade simply smiled as if he had known that she would agree all along which, in all fairness, he probably did. He was unlike any mortal she had ever seen, and she had been alive long enough to have seen pretty much everything.

***

“Ah, little meek Molly Hooper, so good to finally meet you.” Jim’s toothy grin was awash with blood when he greeted Molly from his sofa with a wheezing cough. Since Lestrade had left his condition had worsened, the blood was still dripping freely through Sebastian’s makeshift attempt at bandages and Jim’s breathing was laboured. Compartmentalising, Molly ignored the fact that this man before her - surprisingly attractive with his blood stained suit, fluffy black hair and corpse-like pallor - was probably a mass-murderer-slash-psycopathic-satan-creature and treated him as just another patient. Granted, most of her patients were dead but that wasn’t the point.

“You need to lay still, I’m not going to be able to do anything if you’re fidgeting around.”

Letting out an irritated sigh Jim stilled himself and let out as deep a breath as he could manage.

“This half-human thing isn’t as fun as you thought it would be, is it?” peeling away the blood sodden cloth Molly grimaced, “You’ve been moving too much, there’s no way it could’ve been this bad when it happened.”

“He fidgets a lot.” Sebastian chipped in, causing Jim to scowl and attempt to turn again only to be stopped by Molly pushing him back into his flowery pillows.

“Stay still, I’m going to have to set your ribs.” shifting his shirt around and placing her palms either side of the wound Molly smirked, “This is called pain, if I were you I’d learn to get used to it.”

Pressing against the broken ribs Molly grimaced as Jim began to shift around, attempting to escape the pain. “You might want to hold him down before he makes it worse!” she gestured to Lestrade and Sebastian who jumped into action, Sebastian moving to hold Jim’s head and shoulders - hanging over him almost as if to comfort - and Lestrade to pin his lower half.

“Well this is certainly a riveting evening.” Lestrade grimaced, his voice strained from fighting Jim’s movement, “You know I could be sat by my fire drinking good English Scotch and flicking through a case file. I’m going to kill Mycroft Holmes.”

“Be thankful he’s even letting you go back to your pretty Holmes, detective.” Lestrade’s eyes flicked up to Sebastian, preparing a witty retort that related to his indispensability but when he saw the Duke’s face he stopped. It probably wouldn’t be wise to antagonise him - after all, the wounded animal in this situation wasn’t actually the wounded man... It was his pet and protector.

With one final twist of a palm from Molly and a cry of pain from Jim the entire ordeal was over and Molly was looking around for the bandages. Lestrade relaxed and sat on the floor beside the Pathologist, taking some time to look her over; to say that she had effectively been taken prisoner she was unnaturally calm, bandaging Jim’s chest tightly with only a hint of fear or even disbelief at what was, quite frankly, a fairly unbelievable situation.

“So, do I get to drink my Scotch now?”

Jim waved a hand in dismissal of the DI but when Molly rose to follow he placed a hand on her arm to hold her back. He took a second to wet his lips and brace himself against the pain before speaking, “Breathe a word of this and you die, are we clear?” The threat was frank but it was obvious that if it came to it Jim would not hesitate to carry out his promise. Molly nodded as meek as ever and Jim smirked, releasing her.

“Good. I may have need of you again, I’ll text you if that’s the case.”

Waiting for Molly to reach the door to give his parting shot Jim simply called, “Witch.”

Molly turned, the fear in her eyes obvious for the first time since she set foot in the room. 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Molly knew that this was the most thanks she would get and so she accepted with a nod and took her leave before he decided that she wasn’t important enough to let live, riding back to the hospital with Lestrade and trying to rationalise all that she had just experienced.

She wouldn’t sleep any time soon.


End file.
